


I Wasn't Hoping To Run Into You

by ArtJunkyard



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtJunkyard/pseuds/ArtJunkyard
Summary: The first pic of the ToA Papadopoulos Fam AU. Also 4th chapter in my Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series.





	I Wasn't Hoping To Run Into You

**Author's Note:**

> The first pic of the ToA Papadopoulos Fam AU. Also 4th chapter in my Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series.

“We may have to hold onto each other to avoid being separated.”  
“WHAT?”  
I took a deep breath, trying my best to maintain my sanity until we got out of this busy street. “I SAID WE MAY HAVE TO-”  
“WHAT?”  
I rolled my eyes and grabbed Meg’s shoulder, shifting her to walk in front while I stayed close behind. We picked our way through the narrow lane, avoiding the salesmen and women who sat behind makeshift shop fronts, selling knock-off Gucci handbags and fake name-brand sunglasses. The yelling of children, customers and vendors never ceased. Kids around my age (my mortal age) hung around the street corners, smoking cigarettes and eyeing up a particular stand selling dodgy leather jackets. The age-old sandstone buildings, repurposed as apartments, all seemed to be slightly on tilt, and many had blue ‘TO LET’ signs protruding from the dusty walls. They were all packed close together, not unlike the people in the street below, leaving almost no room for the orange-tiled lane.

As we passed a stall selling obviously fake gold jewellery (insert scoff), an obese man wearing a dirty white vest pushed past us in a hurry to get to the ice-cream stand. His bulky arms forcefully shoved us out of the way, causing Meg to stumble, then slam into me and knock me even more off balance than I already was. Thankfully the street was far too packed for me to fall very far and have a hard landing (I was very tired of hurting myself). I ungracefully bumped into a someone’s back. 

Steadying myself, I scowled at the man who was now greedily eyeing the ice-cream cone being made up for him by a teen behind the stand. I turned to apologise to the person I bumped into. Except, she was already staring at me. Not with annoyance or disgust, as one would expect from someone after being unceremoniously whacked with a grimy teen. This woman’s face showed shock, yes, but also pain. A deep, heart-wrenching pain that reached her glassy blue eyes. I was hit with how similar she looked to Sally Jackson. Her long curly hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, strands rebelliously sticking out every which way, a few falling over her eyes. Her weathered face couldn’t have been older than forty. Her pale pink cardigan hung loose over her middle-aged body. I was quite sure I did not know this woman, yet she seemed to stare longingly into my eyes, as if she’d known me for years.

“Lester?” She croaked. “Is - is that you?” I froze, the disgusting truth smacking me in the face with the force of a mallet. 

This woman - was my mother. Not Leto. Not Apollo’s mother. Lester’s. Mother.

Zeus, the lord of justice, had not made me a body to contain a fraction of my godly essence. He had stolen a mortal boy from his family. He had taken this child, who had nothing to do with us or our problems, and forced him to endure trials that could potentially destroy him. 

Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes and she sucked in a breath, her hands clasped to her mouth in a gesture of prayer. We both stood, unmoving. I did not know what to do. Did I explain to her that I was not her son? Should I fake a case of amnesia? Would it be safer to run for it? I did not get a chance to decide. The woman dropped her bags of shopping and rushed to me, her arms outstretched, and clutched me close to her chest. her chest. She wept as she combed her fingers through my curly hair and pressed her face, wet with tears, against my own.   
All the while, I panted like I’d just finished a marathon, my chest tight with anxiety. I tried to blink back my tears. I wanted to bury my head in this woman’s neck and finally feel safe, but I knew she would want to take me home with her. I could not do that. I was not her son. I was Apollo. My real parents still needed me to complete my trials. 

Finally, she let me go. She held her hands tight on my upper arms as if she was afraid I’d suddenly vanish from her view. Her face could have been read as hysterical; her eyes red and puffy, her smile wide and her laughter was uneven gasps. “Lester, my beautiful boy! Where have you been? Its been almost a year! Everyone thought you were dead!” Her face started to break down again, revealing the horror she’d lived and the sorrow she’d endured these past months. I reminded myself that she had been suffering longer than I, for my trials had begun when I crash-landed in Manhattan in January. This woman’s son must have been stolen to be my mortal body closer to August. It was now late April. That was almost ten months of wondering where her son had gone. I doubted Zeus had left a note. “I thought you were dead, Lester. I never said but I thought…” she trailed off. I stayed silent. I still was not quite sure how to react. Lester’s mother found this suspicious. She held my face in her hands, and rubbed her thumbs over my cheeks. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You look tired, Les’.”   
“I am tired,” I responded quietly.   
“You’re filthy.”  
“That too.”  
She twirled my hair in her fingers. “You need a haircut.”

I smiled and gently pushed her hand away, silently willing her to stop being so affectionate. Not that I had any quarrel with physical affection - quite the opposite actually. But that was the problem. I looked at this woman who was so obviously a Mother, and I could only think of warmth, safety and protection. She liked me. She loved me. Why couldn’t I simply swallow my guilt and fake it, all so I could have those three simple things that I had once took so much for granted? Because that’s not who I was. I had a job to do, and too many people had gotten hurt for me to give up now. I couldn’t afford to get comfortable.  
“Listen, um... Mum,” I started. The word ‘mum’ felt so wrong in my mouth. It fuelled my belief that I was making the right decision. “I need to... go. For a bit.” Her smile slid off her face. Her eyes seemed to shatter. I quickened my speech. “Just for a while. I’ll be back, ok? I promise.” No. Not more promises. Please. No more.   
She let go of me. My skin felt cold where she had been holding it. As cold as her heartbroken stare. I shivered. This look had become more and more frequently sent my direction ever since Jason died. I seemed to crush everyone I met. I had become accustomed to it. If nothing else, it made it easier to distance myself from Lester’s mother, who scrambled to find the right words.  
“But… Am I not… Was I too…” she whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd. 

The crowd… An idea clicked in my head. I glanced to my left, and luckily enough, a huge crowd of tourists were surging through the narrow street, lead by a man clad in a blue t-shirt that read ‘Trusty Tour-guides: The Tour-guides You Can Trust!’ in white block lettering. All the tourists wore matching blue lanyards bearing the same cringey slogan. I looked around and caught sight of Meg, who was standing a few feet behind me, trying to listen in and not get knocked over. She was giving out her signature glares like free candy to the passers-by. I discreetly motioned her to come closer, and turned back to the woman in front of me. She seemed too distressed to realise my plan. I hated to leave her like this, but I had no choice. I listened to her disgraced rambling, but it was as if I was listening to Hermes’ old lover, who had tried and failed to become the oracle. The experience left her mind completely broken. I hoped I would not make this woman suffer the same fate.

I once again glanced to my left. The group would hit within seconds, and I had to be ready. I pulled Meg close behind me, and prepared for impact like a prisoner would brace themselves for execution. I counted down in my head.

3  
“I just- I don’t understand!”  
2  
“Is someone following you? Please, Lester, I-”  
1  
“I need you! We need you Lest-”  
Then the crowd swept between us like a tsunami of Hawaiian shirts and socks-with-sandals. I rushed with them. I could no longer see Lester’s mother, but I heard a choked screech of anguish.

We rounded a corner. After I made sure Meg was still holding onto me, I pushed out of the tourists and pulled my master out by the arm. We looked at each other. I knew she felt as emotionally run-down as I. No words were needed. No words were exchanged.

My brain was not silent. My mind cursed Zeus and everyone involved. It raged in ancient greek, my thoughts splitting my head like a mini-Athena was kicking and punching, throwing a fit to convince me to let her out. I bit my tongue until it bled. I glared holes into the shoppers in front of us, who shuffled aside if they caught my eye. 

We made it to the main road and called a taxi. I may have imagined it, but I thought I saw the image of a woman in a pink cardigan in the drivers rear-view mirror stand, defeated, behind us as the taxi drove off. 

Meg cuddled a little closer into herself. I watched the price of our ride tick slowly upwards. I didn’t even realise I was crying.


End file.
